Convictions
by cheride
Summary: Everything starts somewhere.


_This is a work of fanfiction, for entertainment purposes only. The characters of Hardcastle and McCormick do not belong to me, but to their creators._

* * *

**Convictions**

by

Cheride

"Your Honor," Sarah Wicks somehow conveyed a wealth of disappointment in those two words, "don't you think you've been sulking long enough?"

Milton Hardcastle stared out the den window, though the shutters were blocking all but a small opening, and the twilight was moving steadily into darkness. A single manila folder rested on his lap, though he still clutched it tightly with one hand. His other hand had been balled up into a fist to support his chin. "I'm not sulking," he answered dully, not moving from the spot behind his desk.

"Yes, I know," the woman appeased, "you're _thinking_." She let out a small huff of breath which seemed to imply she didn't think much of the judge's habit. "But it's time for dinner. You can tell me what you're thinking _about_."

"I'm not hungry," Hardcastle replied, ignoring the tone completely.

"Dinner is already on the table," Sarah answered, the huff becoming a bit more pronounced, "and you need to eat."

This time, the tone got through. Hardcastle grimaced as he twisted his chair around, tossing the folder roughly onto the desktop. He stared at it a few seconds, brow wrinkled in thought, then shook his head and pushed himself to his feet. "Sorry, Sarah. It did smell good when I came in."

With just the twitch of a smile, the small woman ushered him back toward the kitchen. "Nothing fancy, Your Honor; just chili in a bread bowl, because there's been a nip in the air today."

"It'll probably rain tonight," Hardcastle agreed, dragging on one of the kitchen chairs. He paused, waiting for Sarah to sit, then dropped down, scooting himself closer to the table. "It really does smell great," he told her appreciatively.

She unfolded her napkin, then lifted a small plate. "Cheese?"

The judge sprinkled the gratings liberally on top of his chili, then dipped his spoon for the first bite. "Mmmm." He smiled over at the housekeeper. "My mom used to make food like this when she thought I'd had a bad day." He went back to slowly working his spoon.

Beginning her own meal, Sarah nodded. "Chili is an excellent comfort food." She was silent a moment, then asked, "Have you?"

Hardcastle raised an eyebrow.

"Had a bad day, I mean," Sarah clarified. "You were thinking in the den quite a long time this evening."

"You know how it is, Sarah. Sometimes the cases are worse than others. Nothing to worry about."

She gave another understanding nod. "I do sometimes wonder how you do it, Your Honor. Every day, listening to the murderers and the drug dealers and the rapists. I don't know what this world is coming to."

"It's coming to exactly what we've allowed it to become," Hardcastle growled, "with people making excuses and nobody willing to step up and accept responsibility for their actions. Kids, adults—it doesn't matter. Everybody's got an excuse." He pinched off a piece of his bowl more roughly than necessary, loaded it up with chili and cheese, and popped it into his mouth.

"Still," he continued before he had quite finished chewing, "that's not exactly what was going on today. Not much of a hardened criminal before me, just your run of the mill car thief."

"Then what's gotten you so worked up?" Sarah wondered.

"The car thief was convicted," the judge told her. "And I sentenced him. He'll be in San Quentin by tomorrow."

"I don't see the problem. Thieves _belong_ in prison."

"They do," Hardcastle agreed, scratching at his chin. He took another bite. "But maybe I was a little . . ._ hasty_ about that run of the mill part."

She eyed him questioningly. "I don't understand. You think he's someone who just got caught up with the wrong crowd and a bad situation?" She paused. "Or are you saying you think he was actually innocent?"

He shook his head. "You know, everyone _says_ they're innocent—it's just part of the process. But he seemed so _sincere_. I'm pretty sure he actually believed the story he was telling."

"Maybe he's some sort of confidence artist, too," Sarah suggested.

Hardcastle grinned. "You could be right about that. He sure did have a line for everything." The grin faded. "At least, up until he heard the verdict; he got pretty quiet then. But he was still trying hard not to let on how scared he was."

"How long will he be in prison?"

Taking a drink from the glass at his hand, Hardcastle shrugged. "Coupla years," he answered after a moment, "if he behaves. He strikes me as someone who could get himself into trouble inside—end up facing more charges and more time." He glanced down at his bowl, stirring at a piece of stringy cheese, and continued almost inaudibly, "But I hope I'm wrong about that. Two years is plenty."

"Really?" The housekeeper was clearly surprised. "I've never seen you like this before, Judge Hardcastle. What did this man do to get under your skin like this? He must've been quite remarkable."

The jurist huffed out a sudden, exasperated breath, tossing his spoon aside in disgust. "Hah. You were probably closer with the con man idea." He rubbed at his temple. "Though I do think there was something . . . I dunno, just a little _different_ about this guy." He pushed himself from the table, taking his plate toward the counter.

"Your Honor, you barely touched your dinner," Sarah admonished.

"Sorry, Sarah. It was terrific, really, but I'm just not hungry." He began to scrape the uneaten meal, but then the housekeeper was there at his side.

"Leave it, Your Honor; I'll take care of it. Would you at least like some coffee?"

Hardcastle looked at her gratefully. "Thanks, Sarah; that might be nice, but I can get it." He turned toward the coffee maker.

"Nonsense," Sarah objected. "Your coffee isn't likely to soothe anyone. Best if you leave that to me."

"You might have a point there," Hardcastle admitted with a slight chuckle.

The woman busied herself with filling the filter. "Why don't you sit back down and tell me just what made this particular thief so different?"

Slouching back into his chair, Hardcastle replied, "You know I can't really tell you much about the case, Sarah."

She waved a hand at him. "I don't care about the _case_; it's the _man_ I'm interested in, and how he managed to get to you like this."

He grimaced. "First of all, the 'man' is practically a kid. I dunno; he's maybe twenty-five or six, something like that." He saw the woman's questioning expression, and answered before she could put the thought into words. "I mean, I know that's not exactly a _kid_, but you get my point. He's still got his whole life ahead of him, and he's making stupid mistakes that'll end up taking that life from him." He shook his head. "I see a lot of 'em like that, and some of 'em, well, they obviously don't care. They're out for themselves and whatever they can take from this world, and locked up safely behind bars is exactly where they belong.

"But sometimes—like today—I see some that I believe would honestly do things differently if they could. Their crimes aren't violent, or even particularly malicious, they're just _mistakes_."

"Even mistakes should have consequences," Sarah commented mildly.

"Of course they should," the judge agreed. "I'm not saying he shouldn't go to jail. Regardless of the circumstances, he stole a car; I get that, even if he didn't." He rose from his chair again and strode over to stare out the back door window.

"I think maybe it's what happens next that bothers me," he finally continued. "The system is pretty good at keeping the bad guys where they belong; it's not always so good at making sure the kids who just make mistakes don't _end up_ bad guys somewhere along the way. Sometimes I think we let them down, and it just seems like there ought to be something more we can do."

Sarah glanced over at her employer sympathetically, then pulled a cup from the cabinet. "I'm sure you do what you can," she said kindly.

Hardcastle sighed. "That's the problem, Sarah; there isn't really much I _can_ do. Except stick to the low end of the sentencing guidelines and then try to explain to them that the road they're on isn't the only one out there; that they still have time to make a life for themselves if they'll just make some different choices."

"And that's what you did today?"

"It is."

"Did he listen?"

The judge gave that some thought. "I don't know," he admitted. "I told you he was scared, but he was plenty mad, too. And the lip he had on him . . . Who knows? Sometimes it's hard to get through all that, but I hope he heard at least a little bit."

"You did what you could," Sarah assured him again. She filled the cup. "Your coffee's ready; would you like it here or in the den?"

"I'll take it to the den," he told her, reaching for the cup, but she shooed him away.

"I'll bring it. You go find yourself a good movie to take your mind off these things for a while."

He smiled slightly and didn't try to argue. But when she carried the tray of coffee and cookies into the den a few minutes later, the judge wasn't in front of the television, but back behind his desk, the same file folder in front of him, along with a note pad and pencil. She placed the tray on the corner of the desk and shook her head.

"This doesn't look like taking your mind off it," she told him disapprovingly.

He grinned up at her, and immediately snagged a cookie from the tray. "Thanks for the dessert, Sarah, and thanks for the talk. You were right; I did what I could do."

"Exactly. After that, it's up to—"

"But it doesn't have to be _all_ I can do," he interrupted. "Someone has to make sure these kids get another chance; try to keep them from becoming the bad guys."

"What does that mean?" Sarah asked him. "What is it you're planning to do?"

"I don't know," he said around cookie crumbs as he went back to scribbling on his pad, "I haven't figured that part out yet. But I will."

"I'm sure you will," she said confidently. "Just let me know if you need anything else."

The judge nodded a response, mumbled another thanks, and kept making notes. Sarah smiled and climbed the two steps out of the room, leaving him with his dessert, his plans, and the file of one very different car thief.


End file.
